Curious about the origin of the universe back in the day
a French fry took a spin in a centrifuge in Marseilles
Decided to stay in until 2021
had himself a whole lot of fun
By 2021, that solanum tuberosum, by the sum of its parts, gave onlookers
quite a start
~ emerging more divergent than 'Napoleon Blownaparte'
The butterflies flew off some weeks ago.
Pools of blood from my pierced heart have dried up.
My feelings leak insignificant flow -
I no longer drink from passion's sweet cup.
Still, you must realize that love never dies,
for it derives from more than skittish heart.
My soul and my eyes could never disguise -
I still hope that our story soon might start.
Tamer, now - fire, somewhat softer - desire,
but, for all that, hardly less strong or true.
I've guessed from first glance - your face - angel's choir!
I still think it could be right - me and you.
I'll admit - sometimes I taste fear in wait.
But love is patient ... I submit to fate.
6 May 2023
Word, strenght,
distributed vitality
among all...
Stored in everything.
Force,
centrifuge,
centripetal, which pulls,
vortex,
by chance... not by chance...
chance is also a word... !
Great moments in childhood
THE PLAYGROUND.
Responsible for
bumps, bruises, broken bones
busted egos
Redeemed by
spontaneous acts of wisdom
retaliation, retribution and mercy.
THE “JUNGLE BARS”
A ten foot high tower
ruled by a reincarnated
Olympic gymnast.
THE “SEE-SAW”
An 18 foot plank
Balanced on a fulcrum
(never trust the other kid
to dismount slowly and ease you down)
THE CENTRIFUGE
(aka the kid killer)
A 12 foot in diameter lever powered device.
Purpose - to allow children to spin so fast
that they could be thrown in a tumbling
mass across the stone strewn ground.
THE “SLIDE”
A 15 foot long metal chute
Capable of reaching temperatures of 125 degrees
on a perfect “let’s go play in the park” day.
THE “SWINGS”
A controllable Grandfather Clock
capable of inducing great fear and excitement
and an insatiable desire to get higher – faster.
(often thought of as a “gateway drug”)
John G. Lawless
©6/15/2021
What is the vision;
Capitalism
Socialism is this bar and reprimanded
Truth is silenced
Political guidance
Rapture coming forth
Evil breeze on me
Centrifuge called and they lose
Breath and takes
Pandemic dilemma
War on humanity
No dire calamity
Science and politics don't mix
The reality is more the devil's tricks
Warren is not his tricks that contain us
it's our choices that defamed us
Listening to the wrong voice and choosing the wrong choice as they encapsulate us
What is the true vision what is the truth mandate
What is the purpose of this political mandate
Business circulate by being a hypocrite
When you don't participate
What gives you the right to complain and yet
Political dilemma
War on humanity
No dire sincerity
Politics and science won't mix
The truth is in the heavens
Just resist the devil
And he will flee
This is a spiritual
Not physical emergency
10/28/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
love's aftertaste
from the centrifuge
of flushed toilets
marking it's spiraling descent
from the Perseids of highest heaven
to Davy Jones' locker
one can survive such an excursion
but some do not
we should meet again in a tiger's dream.
Used say I talked too little,
Had no voice to be heard.
Maybe now I talk too much,
Guess I can never get it right.
Through all my biggest struggles,
Whether I talk too little,
Or if I talk too much,
My pen and pad never change.
Words form in the centrifuge of my mind.
Bleeding out my eyes in a dark stream.
It runs down my face, past my broken heart.
Flowing through like a waterfall.
It trickles to my fingertips.
Into the pen that writes my pain,
Drowning the paper in my fear.
A catalyst for my worst thoughts.
No one can see my eyes
they a covered with dark sunglasses
Dark as my soul and my thoughts
When life goes in grim backstreets
it's reflected by a deeper truth about who I am
My most penetrating screams are always silent
Why should life be so difficult,
where we wear a mask ?
The underside of my wings,
will lead me away into another reality
There is a lot of mystery attached to the theater of life
Out and in of different roles
and various performances -
placed in a centrifuge
When I feel I fall eight feet straight down
while, in reality, I'm sitting in bed
The choices are that I don't need to
to identify me or my own experience
with the content of my thoughts
25.09.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
In the backstreets of my mind
Sponsored by: Silent One
2nd place in the contest
To western seige we're a stooge
Dancing like drunkards in deluge
We sow our seeds in centrifuge.
What race gladly ruins her refuge?
Free souls strolling behind bars
Brave recruits scared of scars
Fragrant flowers staring at the stars.
Is this who we really are?
Running after the beauty behind us
We forget the bliss before us
Only to find fantasy within us.
Will this forever be our focus?
Dignity drowns in our political pool
Sincerity is scam in new school
Wisdom is sourced from cesspool.
Is criminality the new cool?
Is this just my imagination
or the image of my nation?
seconds, minutes, hours
round the crystal centrifuge
through all hows and whys
Searching for love is like a centrifuge ...
you gotta separate the chaff from the wheat,
you have to separate the sour from the sweet
Searching has you spinning around,
spinning like an I'm-looking-for-you top
And when you find the right one,
all the worries in your mind suddenly stop
Love has your back hugging the wall,
has you feeling upside down,
yet catching you every time you start to fall
Centrifugal force has you suspended off the ground
No more tears of a clown,
no more smiley face frown
Centrifugal force ain't gonna let you come down
So put your heart in the test tube,
flip the switch, start the centrifuge
Separate away all the hate,
away from your soul impurities must gravitate
Solid love is all that remain,
beautiful alchemy is how love made your heart change
The centrifuge is the tool that you use
to attract those whom your heart can't ever refuse
I think about the moments
as they hover, make contact, disappear
as if forever might prove
to be negotiable; there was
exchange, not so? Something
about recall discerns a somewhere
with receptacles--perhaps for visionaries,
but they do not die.
Between the arms of possibility
are found the glint of hope
(madness perhaps) or irony.
There beside the dry, unwieldy
skeleton of possibility,
are those shy hints of laughter
the bright ones overlooked,
the vision, only vanity rejects.
It comes beyond remembering,
in mute tenacity a surge, frisson
along the spine, confirming origin,
blithe centrifuge that cedes no will
or need to understand;
for there within its vast purview,
is home.
~
On Saturnian nights I rise;
homing in on apogee and perigee,
my soul rises.
Free-floating energy mingles,
with crackling static;
my body feels nothing and I feel no body.
Crystalline ice in hydrogen milk,
can float my soul forever;
safe in its womb, am I.
A celestial merry-go-round;
Saturnian rings spin Saturnian dreams;
they lull me to sleep.
On Saturnian nights;
etheric body in flight greets many souls;
who’ve gone before.
A classroom of grace, it is;
a spiritual recharging station;
Saturnian nights invigorate all of my senses.
A soul in flight on a Saturnian night;
hears symphonic lessons,
in staccato verbiage.
I awaken from Saturnian dreams;
a new spirit in an old body;
with wider zest for life.
The Saturnian centrifuge,
brings much clarity.
There’s rain in my brain,
A pitter patter on the old grey matter,
Cats and dogs in the cerebral cogs,
A shower dampening my mental power.
There’s precipitation in my imagination,
A cloud collision in my vision,
A deluge in my centrifuge,
A tidal surge has overwhelmed my optimistic urge,
A tsunami is rampaging through my spiritual harmony,
A lighting strobe just struck my frontal lobe.
There’s a vortex in my cortex,
An eddy in my heady,
A blizzard in my gizzard,
Hail in my vapour trail,
Sleet on my feet,
Snow on my big toe
Making me feel low.
I’ll pop a pill and rest my head
Upon a bed of feather
And when I wake I’m hoping
For bright eyes and better weather.
Though mine among the millions,
still I do not own this child.
The core of stone or mist
released this night
to stand along the ramparts
long ago upraised to serve
one cause alone,
demarking truth from void.
For art is higher than the noblest vision.
It is our sustenance,
our nostrum for decay, indeed,
but more!
It is the centrifuge of breathing dust
that found a universe beyond itself,
and then another just inside its own,
in equal whirling splendor...
in tune with sirens
singing in the soul!
~
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